Government Funding
by Dark Amystika
Summary: Crane's favourite patient becomes his foster daughter and only lifeline in a desperate battle for survival and freedom after a horrible accident and a shocking revelation. Please R&R!
1. Chapter I

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything "Batman"-related, and I wouldn't be sharing Crane with the rest of you if I owned him! He's MY squishie! MINE, I say!

**A/N:** I know I probably shouldn't be starting a new fic yet, but I just couldn't resist. Bear with me, OK?

**Chapter I**

I gazed out my window at the crime-ridden city of Gotham. It was almost enough to make me miss Camden, the crime was so bad. But I was safer here, though I was beginning to rethink my hiding place. While it was unlikely that anyone would come looking for me in Arkham Asylum, it was a very unpleasant place. The only upside was _him:_ Dr. Jonathan Crane, the handsome and surprisingly young scientist who had taken a keen interest in me. I was flattered in a way, though he still believed me insane. But I was not insane. I was afraid. I was hiding. I was desperate. Yes, that was the correct term: desperate. Anyone would have to be to hide out in an _asylum,_ particularly this one. Still, I would rather be here than back _there._ I shivered to think of being recaptured and brought back _there._ I could never let that happen. I'd die first.

I gazed at my reflection in the two-way mirror that looked into my room. I liked and hated my looks at the same time. I looked a lot like my mother, possessing her sculpted, elfin features and full lips so red people always thought I was wearing lipstick. However, I had my father's porcelain skin, eyes as blue as the heart of a flame, and thick, soft, chocolate-brown hair, which I wore in a braid down to the small of my back. I liked the way I looked because I was reminded of my parents. I hated it because that put me at risk of being sexually assaulted or something like that. Still, it was unlikely that that would happen here. I was safely locked away from all the other crazies with no way of getting to them, or them getting to me. I'd be all right. But I was getting tired of this place. The food was enough to make me wish that They _would_ find me. What, did people think that crazies didn't have tastebuds? Or didn't crazies deserve decent food? I wondered briefly if what we ate here was what the local high school students had refused to eat in their cafeterias, and laughed through my nose at the thought. While I truly believed it to be entirely possible, it was pretty unlikely. But I needed _something_ to think about to pass the time before it passed on without me.

I sighed and pulled my legs up on the wide window ledge, hugging my knees to my chin. The window was like a big box set back deep into the wall, so there was enough room for me to sit there curled up. I could bend and twist my body in ways uncomfortable for most other people, though I wasn't a contortionist by far. I was just flexible. The sky was a lot clearer than usual, and I couldn't see any sign of bad weather coming. I hoped the sky would be clear that night so I could look at the stars. People constantly debate about the 'constants' in the world, but they're all wrong. Even death itself is no longer a constant because people live way longer than they should because of all the new technology and medicine available. No, the only constant in the world was the stars. They would always be there until either the sun exploded or that idiot Bush got us all killed in a nuclear war. Most likely, in my belief, was the latter, though Bush would call it "nuculer". It really frightened me how that homophobic clod couldn't even say 'nuclear'. It honestly did.

"Sirena?"

I smiled, not turning towards the door, when I heard my name. "Dr. Crane. You're late."

"Am I?" asked Crane, taking a seat in a swivel chair that I really didn't understand the purpose of being in my room. "Not by my watch."

"Your watch stopped fifteen minutes ago," I said. "It's one-ten by the village clock." I heard him give a small laugh behind me. _Paul Revere's Ride._ How many times had my father read it to me? I couldn't even remember now.

"Hmm, you're right," Crane said, jarring me out of my thoughts. "My watch has stopped. How did you know?"

"Call it a hunch," I replied, now turning to face him, my long legs dangling down the wall.

"Why don't you sit here and join me?" Crane asked.

"Because I'm comfortable here."

"Fair enough." The doctor wrote a few notes before saying, "So how are you feeling today?" I laughed mirthlessly.

"Oh please," I said. "The same as I do every day and you know it. Bored. Lonely. Plagued by horrific nightmares beyond imagining. And a little cold. Don't look at me like that. What do you expect me to say, 'Might I have some sugar to spread out for my flies'?"

"There's no need to get angry," said Crane, preparing to defend himself. I was the only patient who had never attacked him, but I suppose one can't be too careful when one works in a loony bin. "I'm just trying to help you."

"You lie in your throat and we both know it," I sighed. "You know that I don't need _help._ Not help like yours, leastways. And I could have gotten out of here a hundred times over, and I just might if the food gets any worse. I'm here because I want to be. I thought you had figured that out by now."

"No," said Crane, clearly fascinated by this "new development". "Why do you want to be here?"

"Because I'm safe here," I answered. "If I answer any further than that, you really will think I'm insane. But I'm not. I don't have Renfield's Syndrome; that was just a ploy to get committed. Think on it. Have you ever seen me ever try to ingest a life? Have I ever tried to take the life of another for my own? Do I drink blood, not counting when I got a paper cut on my finger and sucked on it to stop the bleeding?"

Crane thought for a moment before saying, "No. I suppose I haven't."

"And you didn't find that unusual for a patient who supposedly has Renfield's Syndrome?" I continued. I was pushing his buttons and he knew it, but he allowed it anyway, curious.

"I suppose I wasn't really paying attention," he said with a shrug. "I have a lot of patients to attend to in the day." I laughed, but didn't say anything.

"So you don't want to tell me why you're hiding here?"

"On the contrary; I do," I answered. "But then you'd really believe I have lost my reason, and you will quite likely be in danger for your life. Please don't ask me, and don't judge me. You know what they say: 'Never judge a man until you have walked two moons in his moccasins'."

"Yes, I know the saying," said Crane with a nod. He smiled at me and I smiled back. I really did like the doctor, but I was bored that day and wanted to have some fun with him. He probably knew that, but didn't remark on it. Instead he commented, "So you said you were bored."

"Mm-hmm," I replied with a nod. "I spend my days either sitting here looking out the window or at that table playing Solitaire with forty-eight cards because Adam ate four of them." Adam was another patient, one with Magpie Syndrome. I had been out in the "recreation" area playing cards and Adam had come up, snatched up a bunch of my cards, and calmly eaten them. So now I lost _to myself_ at Solitaire.

My god, I really _was_ a loser.

"I could get you a new deck if you'd like," offered Crane. I was surprised by this unexpected show of care.

"I would like that," I said softly. "Thank you." Crane smiled and glanced at his watch, then remembered that it had stopped. "What time is it?"

I glanced out at the clock tower. "One-thirty-three, give or take a minute or two."

"Then I'm afraid I have to go," said Crane, putting away his notebook. "I just have one question. Off the record."

"Yes?" I asked.

"Your name. What does it mean? I've never seen 'Serena' spelled like that before."

I smiled darkly. "I suppose it's just another spelling. It probably means the same thing as 'Serena'. I've never bothered looking into it, really. Your name, however, is generally a Hebrew name meaning 'gift of God."

"Ah," was Crane's reply. "I had never really thought about it before. That's very interesting." I looked back out the window, not wanting to watch him leave me. "I'll see you tomorrow, or maybe later if I have enough time."

"I'd like that," I said quietly. "I really would." As there was nothing more for either of us to say, he left. I leaned my forehead against the cool glass of the shatterproof window. I was cold already, but I didn't care. I felt something bad was going to happen soon in Arkham, and I had to get out soon. But I wanted to see him again. Yes, I would wait until that night to leave. I could wait a little longer.


	2. Chapter II

**A/N:** Phoenix Sheriden: Oh don't worry. He's not going anywhere (indicates Crane tied to a chair looking very worried indeed) Heh heh heh...

**Chapter II**

Having nothing better to do, I slept most of the day away. I needed to be alert and strong for my escape, which I planned for that night. I had to get away from this place before They found me. I couldn't risk anyone getting hurt because of me, especially Dr. Crane. I liked to think of him as a friend.

When I had slept as much as I could, I returned to my window and sat there for a while, singing old songs softly to myself. Songs my mother had sung to me when I was little. I missed my mother very much, and my father, but I knew they wouldn't want me to spend my time missing them and wishing futilely for their safe return. They were dead, and there was nothing I could do about it. They would want me to be free, and stay far away from Them. I wanted the same thing, but it was a lot harder than it seemed. They had all kinds of resources while I had only my wits and wile. Thus far, it had been enough, but there's always that _one_ time…

I was jarred out of my thoughts by Dr. Crane coming into my room. This time I slid off the ledge and joined him at the small table, scratching at the back of my neck where the cheap orange jumpsuit I had to wear irritated my skin. I found myself unable to look Crane in the eyes for some reason, having lost my cockiness and attitude. I wondered why that was. Was I just worried about him? I didn't know. I just hoped that he would safely forget me when I was gone.

Dr. Crane surprised me by placing a brand new deck of cards on the table and sliding them to me. "I promised you a new deck, didn't I?" he asked. "I hope you like the pattern." The deck was designed by Joseph Vargo, my favourite artist.

"They're great," I said. "They really are. Thank you very much." I smiled as I ran my fingertip over the seal on the cards. "My dad used to tell me something he heard in that old musical "Guys and Dolls". He'd say 'Someday a man may come up to you on the street and show you a deck of cards, on which the seal is not yet broken. And he will bet you that he can make the Jack of Spades jump out of the deck and squirt cider in your ear. But you do not accept this bet, for as sure as you stand there you are going to wind up with an ear full of cider.' I didn't really understand him back then; I thought he was just being silly. But I think I understand now that he's gone. He meant that even if something seems impossible, if a person is that sure that he can make it happen, odds are that he can."

Crane nodded thoughtfully. "You've never talked about your parents before."

"They died," I said. "They died trying to protect me."

"Oh, I'm very sorry," said Crane, and I could tell he was being honest. I folded my arms on the table.

"So why don't you tell me about yourself?" I asked. "You already know pretty much everything about me that you're ever going to." Crane gave a small laugh.

"All right," he said. He leaned back comfortably in his chair and steepled his fingers. "My father wanted me to become a lawyer when I was younger. I think I turned to medicine just to defy him. I felt he had too much control over my life. My mother just wanted me to be happy, and supported me in whatever I did. I was always top of my class, and I skipped a couple grades in elementary school. Kids used to pick on me, call me 'Scarecrow' because I was a skinny, gangly kid back then. I used to be afraid of them, until I realized that that's what they wanted. That's when my fascination with fear began, and how to use it as a weapon, to turn my fear against others." I nodded with interest, silently urging him to continue. "My mother was thrilled when I entered medical school. My father not so much, but he finally seemed to realize that he wasn't in control of me anymore. We got along better after that. And basically I ended up here."

I nodded, contemplating. "I never had any friends. I never went to school, actually. I know all about bullying, but I've never experienced it firsthand. I almost think it would be worth it to put up with the bullying if it meant I could have real friends."

"I know what you mean," agreed Crane. "You know, and I know this sounds strange, but I've never connected like this with anyone before." I gave him a wry smile.

"I have that effect on people. That or I remind them of someone they've loved and lost." We were silent for a moment, until Crane said quietly, "Well, I really need to go. I'll see you tomorrow, though."

_'No, you won't,'_ I thought. "Good night then," I said. Crane smiled at me.

"Good night." The room felt strangely cold after he had left. I sighed and massaged my temples, thinking about what I was going to attempt that night after lights-out. I had completely thought everything through, but a million and one things could go horribly wrong. Was I really sure about this?

After choking down what they claimed was dinner, I determined that I was.

I lay in bed in the dark, turning my still-unopened deck of cards over and over in my hands. I wished I could explain it all to Dr. Crane, but if I ever told him the truth, would he ever believe me? It sounded kind of impossible. I just wished I could tell him why I had to do it. But there was no time for that, and he wouldn't be safe if I did tell him. I couldn't put him at risk, no matter how much I liked him. I knew what I had to do. I opened the black hemlock poison ring I wore – a pretty ring, actually, pewter with a big black crystal – and I popped the pill that was inside in my mouth and bit it, running it all through my mouth before swallowing it. A moment passed, then another, before I felt cold. My whole body was going numb from the inside out. I shivered harder and harder until it looked like I was having a seizure or something. I gasped suddenly, stiffening, before I collapsed on the floor unmoving. I blinked once very slowly, before my eyes closed and everything went black.

* * *

Oh come on. Haven't you people ever read _The Count of Monte Cristo_? Well, I did. And I learned a few tricks. The pill I chewed only gave me the appearance of being dead. The drugs and herbs in it slowed my heart and pulse until you'd have to hook me up to a heart monitor to know that they were still there. I woke up in a drawer in the morgue under a sheet with a toe-tag on my foot. The drawer wasn't locked, as no one really expects the dead to get up and run. Well, I wasn't dead yet by far. 

I reached back and pushed open the door and kicked against the wall to slide the drawer out. I saw my original clothes in a bag on a table and quickly put them on, as I was naked under the sheet. In the bag was also my new deck of cards. Slowly I pocketed them, wanting something to remember the good doctor by. I closed up the drawer again and slipped out, careful not to be seen. I would have loved to know what Dr. Crane would do when he found out about this, but I knew I could never see him again. I made it out of the asylum with minimal difficulty, but the bridge was another issue. It was raised, of course, and that meant that I couldn't get across. At least, not by way of the bridge. I picked up a plastic bag that was blowing around on the wind and wrapped my cards up in it so they wouldn't be ruined by the water. That done, I dove into the frigid bay and swam to the other side with long, hard strokes. I was always a good swimmer, though I couldn't float for some reason.

I reached the other side relatively quickly and climbed out onto the docks. I was freezing, as it was autumn and I was soaked to the skin. I had to find dry clothes and shelter soon before I got pneumonia or something. Then again, that wasn't very likely…shaking myself, I hurried into the city. I walked around for a while before I saw a likely target: a busy department store that hadn't closed yet. I slipped inside, ignoring the looks I got, and went into the junior section. I found some warm clothes and a towel in the bed and bath area, and went into the fitting rooms. I dried off with the towel and changed clothes quickly, snapping off the tags and bundling everything up in my old jacket. That done, I slipped out a fire exit and hurried on my way. I saw an elderly man warming himself over a trashcan fire and dumped my clothes into it.

"Rough day?" asked the man.

"Rough _life,"_ I answered tiredly. "But we all have issues, right?"

"I guess so," the man chuckled. "Where are you headed?"

"Honestly, I have no idea," I said. "I need a place to stay for the night. I was thinking of hiding in one of the giant crates on the docks."

"Wouldn't suggest it," said the man. "Bad folk around late at night. And you're a pretty little thing too. You best find yourself somewhere else."

"Thanks," I said distantly. Silently I turned and walked away.

"You take care of yourself now," the man called.

"Thanks, you too," I called back automatically. I didn't know where else I could hide, but I had to find somewhere. I would have faked my death during the day, but then they would have had time to go directly to an autopsy, which would not have been good for me. That's the price you pay for freedom, I guess. Huh, _freedom._ An interesting concept. A right that I didn't possess. Maybe someday I would, but not for a while. But that wasn't my main issue at the time. My main issue was finding a safe place to sleep for the night.

Guiltily, I pick pocketed a few people, taking only a little from each until I had enough for a room in a motel and a burger at McDonald's. Once I had the room, I put the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door and collapsed into bed, not even bothering to remove my sneakers.

When I woke up someone had moved me up on the bed so my head was on the pillow, covered me with the blankets, and removed my shoes. My blood ran cold.

"Oh god," I whispered. "They _couldn't've_ found me…could they? I gotta get out of here fast." I pulled my shoes back on, turned in my key, and left quickly. I didn't know where to go, but I had to get away. Maybe I could catch a train or something to the next town, but I couldn't stay in Gotham anymore. It wasn't safe.

I wandered down to the docks, thinking they'd be safe in the daylight. Maybe I could find something to pawn for more money so I could hop a train out of here. Things didn't exactly turn out as I had expected.


	3. Chapter III

**A/N:** Don't worry about Crane; I wasa Girl Scout and my dad was Boy Scout, so I've had some instruction in knot-tying. (sits on Crane's lap and opens laptop) I feel it's only fair to say that I like to update after I get a new review, so keep 'em coming!

**Crane (to reviewers):** Um, help?

**D.A.:** No. (smooches Crane)

**Crane:** OK then...

**Chapter III**

The docks are never safe. I should have known that after living in Gotham even for only a couple months. But stupid me, I went down to the docks anyway. I guess I was just curious. Well, they say "Curiosity killed the cat". But then again, "Satisfaction brought him back"… In either case, down to the docks I went. There was no one around, so I went poking through some of the crates to see what was in them; mostly stuffed teddy bears and rabbits. I wondered if the high school was doing a fundraiser or something. I didn't bother with the toys, though. I couldn't make much off of them anyway. I needed a piece of jewelry or art or something like that if I wanted to get out of Gotham.

_'Unwanting to stay, unwilling to leave,'_ I thought. _'What a conundrum. Such is my life.'_ I really was becoming very cynical, but I couldn't help it. I shoved my hands in the pockets of my stolen jean jacket and continued on. The only crates that I could open were the ones with the stuffed animals, and what did I want with those? There was nothing here that was of use to me, so I started to leave. Then I turned back and sat on the edge of the dock, dangling my legs over the glassy dark water. It was very peaceful for once, and I liked it. I felt like, for the first time, I could relax and rest. So I did. Idiotic thing to do, really. I knew better than to ever let my guard down for _anything._ Well, live and learn I guess.

I lay back on the wooden planks, folding my arms under my head. I closed my eyes, breathing in the salty sea air. I always loved the smell of the sea, from what I had smelled of it from scented candles at least. In Gotham was the first time I had ever seen it for real. Sixteen years had passed before I ever saw the sea. Kind of sad, if you think about it. Most kids have fond memories of playing on the beach with their families at a very young age, but I had none of those. In fact, I didn't have many fond memories at all. It wasn't that my parents didn't love me, far from it; it's just that we had never been able to go to nice places and make nice memories. It was all very complicated, really. But I didn't want to think about all that. I just wanted to enjoy the moment. And I did. I enjoyed it so much that I didn't ever know I wasn't alone until the bomb went off.

I was blasted forward, only just managing to grab the edge of the dock and pull myself back up. There was some kind of territorial battle going on, and I had to get out of there fast. A couple of gangs were throwing cherry bombs around and firing guns. I was about to jump off the dock and try to swim away when one of them noticed me.

"Spy!" he roared, getting everyone's attention.

_'Oh shit,'_ I thought, looking for a way out. I dove behind some of the crates and tried to sneak around to the street and make a break for it. It might have worked if I hadn't underestimated the mentality of the two groups. One of them saw me and threw a cherry bomb at me. It didn't hit me, but it didn't have to. I was thrown back a good thirty feet, my face and hands scorched and cut from the fragments. When I landed in the street, I heard and felt at least two sharp cracks. I had broken a few ribs and a collarbone. Groaning with pain, I tried to raise my head but found it nearly impossible. I needed help badly, but who would come to the docks except more gangs and criminals? I found myself thinking of Dr. Crane, and wishing he would come. I knew he would help me if he were there.

_'Wishful thinking, and nothing more,'_ I told myself. _'You're on your own, as you always have been.'_ I tried to drag myself to my feet, clenching my teeth hard to keep from screaming in pain. I held my arm, trying to realign my broken collarbone, as I looked for an escape. But there was none. I was surrounded by the thugs, and they were all leering at me, wielding knives, chains, guns, etc. I refused to show fear, but I was terrified for my life. Still, I had to keep my head; it was the only chance I had. I looked off in the distance and smiled grimly.

"Isn't that a police patrol boat?" I asked, nodding off towards the water. The thugs immediately spun around to look, and I ran for it, barreling through the ones who had been behind me and running as fast as I could. I didn't know where I was going, but I had to get away. I considered the police for a moment before deciding that that wasn't safe for me. _They _might have connections with the local cops. I couldn't take that risk. Hell, even going to a _hospital_ would be a risk! I didn't know what to do except keep running and pray that someone would help me.

I don't know how long the thugs from the docks chased me, but I didn't look over my shoulder to see. My eyes were burning with tears, and I couldn't breathe. I finally ducked into an alley and leaned against the brick wall, gasping. It was starting to rain, on top of everything, but I just didn't care. I didn't really notice until I felt something thick running down my arms. I looked and saw the brown dye from my hair was running, washing away. Perfect. Now I had to redo _that_ before someone noticed. Maybe I'd go redhead this time. It didn't matter. I needed to set my collarbone and whatever else was broken. I would have slid to the ground if it hadn't hurt my sides so badly, so I just hung my head and cried. The rain mixed with my tears until I couldn't tell the difference. I couldn't tell if I had stopped crying or not, but I didn't think so. I cried and cried, shaking violently with cold, anguish, and fear. I had no one in the world, no one who'd be waiting up for me, no one who would care about me, no one who could help me. For a moment I felt that I was the unluckiest person in the world. Even the children starving in Africa had it better than me because they were at least with the people who loved them. But I had no one. My parents had been murdered in cold blood because they tried to protect me from Them. I turned around and pounded my fist against the wall, whispering over and over, "It's not fair! It's not fair!" And it really wasn't. It wasn't fair that I was all alone in the rain, broken and bruised and very, very cold. I laid my arm against the wall, leaned my forehead against it, and cried some more.

"What in the world happened to you?"

I jumped at the sound of the voice and spun to face it. Against all odds, standing there, under an umbrella, was one Dr. Jonathan Crane. I couldn't speak for a while, and Crane just stared at me. I wondered if he recognized me, considering that my hair was silvery-white under the dye. I wiped my eyes, trying to get ahold of myself, but I still couldn't talk. At length, Crane spoke for me:

"Are you all right? What happened?"

"I-I was d-d-down at the d-docks," I choked, trying to catch my breath. "Th-there was a g-g-gang f-fight and I g-got hi-it by a b-bomb. A ch-cherr-rry b-bomb. I think I b-broke someth-thing." I was struggling to speak more connectedly, but it was hard after so much crying. Crane was shocked.

"Oh my god," he said. "Here, let me see. I'm a doctor; I can help you." I nodded and let him examine my arm. The collarbone he deemed broken, but the rest only bruised. "Come inside with me; I'll set that bone and get you some dry clothes. You'll catch your death of cold out here."

"Thank you," I said softly and went inside with him.

The house was very nice, with a maid bustling about and cleaning the already spotless surfaces. Crane got me the dry clothes first and showed me to a room where I could change and dry off a bit. When I came out, dressed in a pair of fleece leggings and a sweatshirt that was too big for me, Crane was waiting, sitting on a couch with a lot of medical supplies. I had to remove the sweatshirt for him to set the bone, but I was beyond caring at that point. The bone had to be set, end of story. I had brushed out my sodden hair and all the dye with it, so it was now white. I'm sure Crane noticed, but he didn't remark on it. I hissed in pain as he realigned the bone, but did my best not to move.

"Shh, I'm almost done," Crane said soothingly. "You're going to be all right now; don't worry. I know it hurts, but it has to."

"Pain lets you know you're alive," I said through clenched teeth.

"I can relate," agreed Crane. "There, all done. Do you want to call your parents?"

"My parents are dead," I said sadly. "I have no where to go."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Crane, slightly surprised. His expression softened as he gazed at me thoughtfully. "What's your name?"

"Czarina," I said, somewhat flatly. "My parents wanted me to always remember my royal heritage."

"I see," said Crane thoughtfully. "You remind me of someone I…knew."

"Really? Who?" I asked.

"It doesn't really matter now," said Crane. "She disappeared. I thought she was dead, but she had run away and I have no idea where she could be now."

"Oh," was all I could say in reply. So he didn't realize that I was Sirena. Good. So much the better for me. "Was she your daughter?"

"No," answered Crane. "She was a patient of mine. Sometimes, though, I truly wondered if she was really…" he broke off, shaking his head. "I shouldn't say any more."

"I understand," I said quietly. Crane looked at me thoughtfully for a moment and smiled.

"Well, you said you had nowhere to go," he said. "Why don't you stay here for the night? I guarantee it's a lot more comfortable than running around out on the streets."

My heart jumped. I wanted to stay so badly, but then he might figure out who I really was and put me back in the asylum. I was through with that place, but he had just said he didn't really believe I was insane. I didn't know what to do, so I just said the first thing that popped into my head:

"I'd love to."

Maybe I should have thought it over better first, but I was exhausted and sore and really wanted a real bed to sleep in for once.

Dr. Crane set me up nice and comfortable in a very nice guest bedroom with a soft full-sized bed covered with warm blankets. He bade me good night and I was left alone. The maid had given me a nightgown of hers to wear, even though it was a little big on me, so I changed into it and sank into bed, sighing at the delicious warmth that surrounded me. I slid under the covers, wiggling my toes under the soft sheets. I smiled as I closed my eyes. As I drifted off, I allowed myself to pretend that I was sleeping in my own bedroom in my own home with a family of my own who loved me. Nice fantasy. One I had held on to for about a year now. Content for the first time in that year, I fell asleep.

I dreamed of seeing Dr. Crane being held roughly by some sort of monstrous bat-creature. The giant bat sprayed Crane in the face with some white gas and Crane's astonishingly blue eyes filled with fear, bordering on outright panic. The bat-monster growled and snarled at Crane, apparently speaking in some strange language that neither of us could understand.

I woke up with a gasp when I felt someone's rather cold hands touch my bare arms.

"I'm sorry," said Dr. Crane (for of course, it was he). "I didn't mean to scare you. I was just checking on the bone. I didn't mean for you to wake up."

I caught my breath. "It's OK. I was just having a strange dream, that's all. Just a weird dream." Crane nodded and lightly touched my collarbone…and frowned. "Something wrong?"

"No," he answered in wonder. "In fact, everything's perfect. The bone's completely healed, and it's only been about six hours." He looked up at me and his eyes – those beautiful blue eyes – widened as they gazed into mine. _"Sirena?"_ I nodded guiltily. He looked at my perfectly whole collarbone and back into my face. "How is this possible? Wait a minute..." he broke off, thinking for a moment, before he whispered, _"You're not human!"_

My eyes filled with tears as I looked up at him. "Nobody's perfect."


	4. Chapter IV

**Chapter IV**

_"You're not human!"_

My eyes filled with tears as I looked up at him. "Nobody's perfect." I sniffled, trying not to cry again. "You have no idea what it's like," I whispered, my voice cracking. I tried to continue, but it was either cry or suffocate inside myself. I sobbed, unable to control the flow. I covered my face and just cried and cried until I felt sick and had to make myself stop. I gasped in a breath, and realized that Crane was holding me in his arms. I was confused. I thought he would have hated me when he found out the truth. Everyone else did. But then, Jonathan Crane was different from all those…_others._ He was better. He understood.

I buried my face in his arm and cried. He stroked my hair calmingly, soothingly, though I could sense the wonder in him. He knew part of my dirty little secret. He'd want to know the rest. He'd want to know who – _what_ – I was. At the moment, though, I found it hard to care. I just cried. Somehow, though, I managed to notice that Crane actually had a nice build under all the Armani. Slim but strong, like a rapier. It was comforting to have those strong arms around me – arms that didn't look like weapons but were. I felt safe in those arms.

Finally the tears began to ebb and stopped after a while, and I lay hiccoughing against him. He kept stroking my long white hair, rocking me from side to side slowly like my mother used to until I was calm.

"What happened to you?" he asked gently. "You can tell me, Sirena."

"Huh, _Sirena,"_ I said contemptuously. "That's not a name; that's an acronym for Super Intelligent Realistically Enhanced Neurological Anthropoid. And I'm not really a daughter to the man and woman who created me; I'm more of a science project."

"What _are_ you?" asked Crane.

"Government funding," I said bluntly. "I'm what the people's tax dollars are paying for. I'm a genetically enhanced supercomputer in human form with a pituitary gland to make me grow like a 'normal' human child. I'm flesh and blood, born of a sperm and an egg, but not, by dictionary definition, human. I was designed for research and experimental purposes, but then something happened that wasn't supposed to: I developed thoughts and feelings independent of what They wanted me to think and feel. I felt pain and fear when they used me for their experiments. Do you know what it's like to have ten to fifteen seizures in one _day?_ It's horrible." I broke off for a moment and showed him my bare arms, which were dotted with bruises and scars from multiple injections. "Look at these! Do you think Nature did this? The only reason I don't have brain damage is because I've been given "enhancements" that make me heal a lot faster than normal people. They were testing chemicals for the armed forces, things that would make then infinitely stronger than regular humans, heal at super speed, be more cunning, more strategical. They couldn't test on people, though, because of the possible side effects. So they grew me. The started more experiments in addition to the army stuff. You may or may not have noticed at some point during my sojourn at Arkham that I only have eight toes. There was only one problem: the man and woman who contributed the egg and sperm that I was born from fell in love with me. They treated me like their real daughter, and demanded the tests be terminated because I was suffering so much from the after-effects. The board appeared to agree in good grace, but then there was an "accident"-" here I made air quotes around the word "-in the HAZMAT lab. Mom and Dad were exposed to a sample of the Ebola Virus, and since there's no cure for it they died. And then, before I even had a chance to mourn for them, it was back to the experiment table for me. I fought back this time; I kicked and struggled until they had to restrain me, telling me over and over that this was why I was created, this was my only purpose in life. So I did the only thing I could. I pretended to accept all this for a while, until I had a chance to escape. I seized a scalpel and slashed the throat of the "scientist" who was with me at the time, stole his security badge, and ran for it. To make an already-long story shorter, I've been running for my life ever since and ended up in Arkham because I thought I'd be safe there. I may have been wrong, though, because when I woke up in the motel I stayed in last night someone had moved me and taken off my sneakers. So now I'm back where I was to begin with: cold, scared, desperate, and alone." I stopped and caught my breath. Damn it, I was going to start crying again. I rubbed my eyes, trying to control the tears that threatened to smother me, choking and coughing. I pulled away from Crane and pulled my knees up to my chin morosely. I didn't want to hear him say what I knew he would. I didn't want to hear him tell me to get out, to get away from him. I shivered, cold without the blankets over me. To my surprise, Crane took off his suit coat and put it around me. He was staring at me in abject shock, but he was still helping me for some reason. I was confused, but whispered a cracked "thank you" as I pulled the coat closed around me.

"How did you survive all those chemicals?" he asked softly.

"Those and all the diseases that they don't have cures for yet," I said quietly. "Whenever they were done with a certain chemical or disease, they'd give me a transfusion, flushing out all the contaminated blood and giving me new blood. Not fun."

"I can only imagine," said Crane softly, wonderingly. "I always knew there was _something_ about you that wasn't quite…normal, but I _never_ expected _this…"_

"No one ever does," I replied glumly. I started to rise. "I'll leave if you want me to."

"No, not at all," said Crane, gently pulling me back down on the bed. "Why would I want you to leave?"

"Everyone hates me if they find out what I am," I said. "I thought that…"

_"No,"_ said Crane gently. "I wouldn't do that. Not to you. This may sound strange, and I'll admit that it is, but you were always my favourite in Arkham. I found that I couldn't think of you as just another patient. Honestly, I don't think I ever really believed that you were insane and now I know that you're not."

I looked up at him curiously. "You're taking this awfully well. I wouldn't have expected you accepted all this so easily."

Crane looked sad. "That's because I have a secret of my own." He shifted on the bed, turning to face me better. "I helped create you, Sirena. I worked on the S.I.R.E.N.A. project."


	5. Chapter V

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the quote from Dream Theatre's "The Mirror".

**Chapter V**

"You…you did _what?"_ I gasped, horror-struck. Why didn't I remember him? How could he not have told me this when we first met? Gods above, what had he _done_ to me?

"I swear to you, I never knew they were going to put the project into action," Crane said, reaching for my hand. I pulled away without thinking. He looked pained, but didn't remark on it. "I'm a chemist, among other things. They wanted my research and input for a project that was supposed to be hypothetical. When I received a letter from a very reputable government firm asking for me to be part of a project that could change the human race as we know it, I was only too glad to oblige. I was told that the project involved an artificial human to test on, and I was needed to help with the body's physical chemistry. I was called upon to change the body's chemical makeup to make it super strong, fast, agile, and rapidly healing. The humanoid I helped to create would be almost superhuman. However, the project was shut down due to lack of funds, and eventually I stopped thinking about it. When I first saw you, I didn't know what to think. At first I didn't think of the government project I had been working on, but when I remembered I found everything I could about you. Somehow, you managed to procure a legitimate birth certificate in New Jersey, a social security number, and a family history. Besides, I thought that the human created for the tests wouldn't be sentient, able to think and feel. I had no reason to think that you were…" his voice trailed off.

"Not real," I said softly. I looked up at him. "I think I already know the answer, but why didn't you tell me all this during one of our little chats?"

"Because I'm legally compelled not to talk about it outside of the firm," replied Crane. "However, since you are, if you'll pardon my awkward choice of words, the end result of that firm's efforts, I'm allowed to tell you about it now. I didn't know who you were before. I swear I would have told you if I'd known."

I couldn't speak for a time. The only person I thought I could trust had turned out to be one of the ones who had shaped my miserable existence. How could I ever trust anyone again now? What was I supposed to _do?_ I knew then I couldn't stay in Gotham, but where else could I go? I couldn't even look at Dr. Crane. I didn't really blame him for what had happened to me, but I couldn't find it in me to fully excuse him either. How could he have condoned this?

'_Let's stare the problem right in the eye  
It's plagued me from coast to coast__  
Racing the clock to please everyone,__  
all but the one who matters the most!__  
Reflections of Reality__  
are slowly coming into view…__  
How in the hell could you possibly forgive me__  
after all the hell I've put you through?_

_It's time for me to deal,  
becoming all too real  
living in fear,__why'd I betray my friend?__  
Lying until the end,__  
living life so pretend,__  
it's time to make my amends.__  
I'll never hurt you again!'_

Where did that come from? Oh right, Dream Theatre, "The Mirror". One of my favourites by that particular group. Why was it in my head now? Is that what I wanted Dr. Crane to feel? I wanted him to repent, sure, but to such an extent? I just wasn't sure of anything anymore.

"I'm not sure of anything anymore," I said softly. "I don't know what to do, what to _think._ I don't want to blame you, but you were a part of this. I just know that I can't survive on my own anymore, and I'm not safe in Gotham. _They_ are coming for me, I know it, and in a city like this where nothing goes unnoticed, it's only a matter of time."

"Not if you're someone like me," said Crane. "Someone who doesn't draw attention to himself." I looked at him, quirking an eyebrow questioningly. What was he suggesting? He knew the dangers of harboring me; I was basically a fugitive! Besides, why would he want me around? If he was doing this out of pity, I would not accept. Likewise for remorse. He didn't have anything to prove to me, nor did he owe me anything. I didn't want his charity; I just wanted to be able to stop running after all this time. Crane seemed to sense this as he picked up his briefcase – which he never seemed to be without. He placed it on the bed beside me and opened it, saying, "I've had these for a while now, just in case I was wrong about you. When you disappeared from the morgue, I knew I had been and was glad I had had the foresight to get them."

"What?" I asked, curious in spite of myself. In response, Crane handed me a sheaf of official-looking papers and gestured for me to read them. Puzzled, I did. It didn't take me long to realize what I was reading: _adoption_ papers. Crane had been carrying around _adoption_ papers for me! I tried to speak, but only a choking sound came out. Why was he doing this? Could I really trust him? I looked up at him, wide-eyed and wondering. He smiled at me.

"Sirena-" he began, but I unwittingly cut him off.

"What are you doing?" I asked softly. "How can you even consider this? You know as well as I what the danger is in being near me! If I'm found, they'll kill you, or anyone else who'd try to help me. And how do I know I can even trust you? I don't like to say this, really, I don't, but it's true. The only people I was certain I could trust are dead. Since then I've found it hard to trust anyone else. Why should I trust you?"

"Because your father did," replied Crane. I was stunned.

"You knew my father?" I asked.

"Adrik? Certainly I knew him. And your mother, Sara." He took his wallet out of his pocket, pulled something out of it, and handed it to me. "I was at their wedding." The picture he had given me showed him standing with my parents at their wedding reception, Crane smiling as my mother gave him a friendly kiss on the cheek while my father watched with a smile. I stared at the picture, unable to speak. It was true. He had been friends with my parents, the only people I ever trusted in my life. I looked up at him, tears in my eyes. Crane smiled gently at me and brushed away a tear that managed to escape. "I hope you can take my word for it when I say that I think your parents would want you to trust me. When I heard what had happened to them, I didn't know what to think. I never knew that you had been born, so I didn't know to go looking for you. All I could think to do was think of them often and wonder what had happened. When you came to the asylum, I wondered about their project and if it had been put into action. That's when I got the papers. I wanted to take care of you because I knew that you would be in danger. Just in case you really were who I thought you were, I wanted to be ready." He looked into my eyes with his electric blue ones, and I felt something in me tell me that I could trust him. "They only need one more signature to be official. You won't have to be alone anymore. You won't have to be afraid anymore."

"No," I said quietly. "I am never afraid. Fury and a passionate desire for vengeance have stamped out that particular emotion." I looked at the papers again, at the blank line waiting patiently for a signature. _My_ signature. I didn't know what to do for a moment. Everything around me seemed to freeze as indecision seized me. By saying yes, I would have everything I had ever wanted and could never have, but I would be putting the only person who had ever shown me any kindness at risk for his life. By saying no, I would be forever on the run, desperate and lonely, but Dr. Crane would be safe from Them. Then what, by god, was I supposed to do? I did the only thing I could.

"Do you have a pen?"


	6. Chapter VI

**Chapter VI**

All things considered, I probably should have thought my decision through a little more before signing those papers. Still, it was hard to pass up such an opportunity. And I think it's what my parents would have wanted.

I had to admit that while I was still constantly worried about being found, I was happier than I had been in a long time. Crane – no, _Jonathan_ – treated me very well, like a person rather than an experiment. He understood me better than anyone else, probably because his research had helped to shape my existence. I still wondered from time to time whether he was doing this for me to make amends, but I found that I didn't care anymore. I had a family again.

To anyone who needed to know, I was Jonathan's sister's daughter whom he had adopted after she and her husband died in a tragic automobile accident. I called him "Uncle Johnny" in my mind until one day it accidentally slipped out. While Jonathan was surprised, he smiled at the name and I addressed him as such more often, though he seemed too young to be an uncle at only twenty-seven (though in all fairness, I met a girl once who was fifteen and had a twenty-nine-year-old niece). Jonathan treated me like his own daughter, buying me nice clothes and jewelry to wear, covering the surfaces in my bedroom with knickknacks and things, and filling my shelves with books. I could never get enough books. Often when Jonathan returned from the asylum he'd find me curled up in an armchair in the library surrounded by books. Sometimes, when he had time to spare, he'd sit with me and one of us would read aloud from one of his or my books. I discovered a book of Tennyson poems that I often read from. "The Lady of Shalott" was always one of my favourites. My mother had used to read it to me. I liked to think that she would be happy for me now.

I must say that I quickly became used to being spoiled a bit. Anything I needed, or that Jonathan thought I wanted, I would have without delay. It almost seemed like Jonathan was compensating for something. He did seem very secretive, and was spending more and more late nights at the asylum without any explanation. I was confused, as he was usually so open with me, but I decided not to press the subject, feeling that he would have his own reasons for acting in this manner.

Actually, that may have led to all those later problems…

Something that endeared him to me forever, though, was that he called the motel where I had stayed the night of my escape and asked to know if anyone had gone into Room 13, the room where I had slept. It turned out that the maid had somehow missed the "Do Not Disturb" sign and gone in while I was sleeping. She was the one who had moved me and taken off my sneakers. Maternal instinct, she called it. I should have known, really. If They had found me, They wouldn't have left me alone there. I would have woken up back in the lab where I had been born and experimented on. Still, I felt safer knowing for sure that They hadn't found me quite yet. I was still safe for now, and so was Jonathan. Looking back now, I suppose that I should have known better than to get comfortable. But I just couldn't help it. I wanted to pretend that I could finally stop worrying. I wanted to believe that I could relax and let my guard down at last. The façade I lived under for so long was wearing me out, and I just wanted to drop it. Still, it was nice while it lasted.

* * *

"Another late night?"

This was the third week of my living with Jonathan as his daughter, and he was going out to Arkham again without an explanation.

"I'm very sorry Sirena, but I have a lot of work to do that I can only do at the asylum," said Jonathan heavily. "I wish that I didn't have all of this to do, but that's what comes from being the head of the asylum. I promise that this won't last, though. Soon I'll have more time for you. Maybe we can go to New York and see a musical. "Phantom of the Opera", perhaps? I know that's your favourite. Would you like that?"

"Of course I'd like that," I answered, "but not if you're trying to buy me off. Everything you've given me, everything you've done for me…I don't want it if it's only a payoff of some kind."

"God no!" said Jonathan in surprise. "What would give you an idea like that?"

"Every time you have one of these late nights you buy me something or offer me something," I said. "I'm just starting to wonder why."

"Because I care about you," replied Jonathan. He hesitated for a moment before saying something I couldn't catch under his breath.

"I can't hear you," I said. "What did you say?"

"I said, I love you," he said, his ears turning quite red, unable to look into my eyes. I was startled. This I had not expected. "I've been wanting to tell you for a while, but I just didn't know how it would sound. When I was at your parents' wedding, your mother told me that if she was to have children and then something should happen to her and Adrik, they wanted me to care for those children. You are their child. You are exactly how I would have imagined my own daughter to be if ever I were to have one. I know I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I never expected the project to be put into action. If I had known, I would never have condoned the experiment. I know that your parents felt the same way. It was written into their wills that I should care for their children, but somehow I believe their wills were conveniently lost after their tragic deaths."

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. All this time, all I had wanted was someone to love me again. I never believed that they would. I remembered my parents often talking about a friend of theirs, Jonathan, but I never knew his last name. They must have been talking about Dr. Crane. How many times had Mom said, "Oh sweetie, Johnny would have loved you"? She had been right. And I realized that I loved him too. He had been there for me when I needed him most, comforted and cared for me when I had no one else. A lump rose in my throat. How could I ever have cared about him staying late at the asylum? He still came home to me at the end of the day, even if he did have to go back out again later. He always came home to see me first. I couldn't speak, but I smiled at Jonathan, hoping he'd understand. He smiled back and kissed the side of my head.

"You look so much like your mother," he told me.

"They talked about you a lot," I said softly. "I didn't know it was you then, but now I do. Mom used to say I was a lot like you."

"I think I may have added some of myself into your…ah, _programming_ when I worked on the project," Jonathan admitted. I laughed.

"Well, I'm glad of it," I said. "And I don't care how late you stay at the asylum as long as you come home to me. Whatever you have to do, I'll understand. I won't keep you here."

"I wish you would," said Jonathan. "Just once in a while. I'd rather stay here with you than spend my nights listening to the crazies in my asylum."

"Listening to them was the only thing that was comforting to me while I was there," I replied. At Jonathan's startled expression, I explained, "At least then I knew that someone was suffering more than I." Jonathan nodded, understanding.

"I'd just like to know," he said, "why you chose Renfield's Syndrome?"

"Because I like "Dracula"," I replied. "That, and I know more about Renfield's Syndrome than any other mental illness. I knew I'd be able to convincingly act like I had it until I was committed."

"I see," said Jonathan musingly. "So horror stories don't frighten you?"

"Not at all," I answered. "One person's nightmare is another person's dream, and that other person is me."

"So what _does_ scare you?" asked Jonathan.

"I don't know." I was quiet for a moment, pondering. What _did_ scare me? I was never afraid of the dark, or monsters under my bed or in my closet. The only monsters that ever scared me were flesh and blood and as real as Jonathan standing before me. They were the monsters who had pumped me full of experimental drugs and chemicals and filled my days with agony until a knife showed me the way to be free. I wasn't afraid of them anymore. I wasn't afraid to kill. So what was I afraid of? I decided I was better off not knowing. "You should probably get going. You don't want to waste any more of the night here that you could be using at the asylum working on your experiments."

"Yes, you're right," said Jonathan, picking up his briefcase. "The sooner I finish with this, the sooner we'll have more time together. I'll see about that trip to New York, I promise." I smiled, and then got an idea.

"Wait." I rose, setting aside my book, and approached him. I hesitated for a moment, then embraced him lovingly. I could feel his surprise, but he smiled and put his arms around me.

"I love you, Sirena," he said gently.

"I love you too, Uncle Johnny," I replied. We pulled apart and I smiled. "I'll see you later tonight, then." He smiled back and I walked him to the door and watched him leave. I wished I could at least go with him, maybe help him with these experiments of his so he could finish faster. Well, I suppose childish innocence is something I could have done without in my programming…


	7. Chapter VII

**A/N:** I don't own any of the music mentioned here, or the story of _Peer Gynt._

**Chapter VII**

I can't believe that I'm saying this, but I actually grew bored with reading after a few hours. I wasn't tired enough to go to bed, so I watched TV for a while. While channel surfing I came across the news and saw a breaking story about something that had happened down at the docks. To my abject shock, Carmine Falcone had been captured at the scene of a massive drug-hustling job. Crates full of illegal drugs had been found being unloaded by Falcone's goons, but that wasn't the amazing thing. Falcone himself had been found tied to a huge spotlight, creating a bat shape in the sky. The goons were all telling a story about being thrashed by some kind of giant bat, or a man dressed like one. There was, unfortunately, no footage of this "Batman", but I could only imagine what he must look like if he actually scared Falcone's steroid-crunching muscleheads.

"Well what d'you know," I mused softly, smiling. "So someone's finally gotten the job done. It took long enough, I must say. I wonder who this Batman is. I wonder…" And so I wondered for a while, until I got bored with that too. I turned off the TV and perused the library for a while. To my delight, I found a piano tucked away in some far corner of the room. My father had taught me to play the piano when I was little…or whatever. I hadn't played in so long, but I remembered all the music I had ever learned. That's what comes from having a photographic memory, I guess. I sat down and ran through a couple scales. The piano was badly out of tune, but it still played just fine. I played for a while, old songs I thought I had forgotten a long time ago. Classics like _Moonlight Sonata_ and _Für Elise_ and _Toccata and Fugue in D Minor_, which had been one of my favourites. For those songs I could play that had lyrics, I sang while I played. I lost track of the time, and was quite spooked when I felt a hand touch my shoulder. I jumped with a gasp and spun around.

"I'm sorry," said Jonathan. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't," I replied. "I was just surprised."

"I didn't know you could play," he commented.

"I didn't know you could," I answered. Jonathan smiled.

"I can't. I just have the piano here. I don't know why, really. I don't play it and I don't really take care of it, as you can see. I was thinking about getting rid of it."

"If you don't want it, I'll take care of it," I offered.

"How could I get rid of it now that I've heard you play?" was his response. I smiled. "What else do you know?"

"Take a seat; I'll play you one of my old favourites," I said. Jonathan pulled up an armchair and sat back to listen. "My father used to play this for me and tell me the story that goes with it. Most people don't know it."

"I'd like to hear it," said Jonathan. I smiled and began the story of _In the Hall of the Mountain King._

"Peer Gynt, on his quest, comes across a kingdom in the mountains," I began. "Though he knows the kingdom is ruled by trolls, he is exhausted and cannot go a step further. He takes a risk and goes to the castle door. The troll king welcomes the weary traveler and invites him to stay for the night, for he is pleased by Peer Gynt's storytelling and jests. The king likes Peer Gynt so much, he asks him to marry his daughter, the troll princess. Peer Gynt doesn't wish to, for the troll princess is an ugly, lumbering creature like her father, but he knows that this really isn't a suggestion. He pretends to accept eagerly, but that night, when everyone else in the castle is sleeping, he makes his escape." Now I began to play, slowly and softly at first as the song goes. "He tiptoes from his room and quickly but quietly makes his way down the hallway. There doesn't appear to be anyone around, but still he is cautious." I began to play faster and a little louder. "Now he sees two guards on patrol and, frightened, he hurries away, trying to find a way out before he is captured. But the guards noticed his shadow flitting on the wall and start to follow him. Peer Gynt knows he cannot be caught or else the troll king will punish him severely for lying to him. He hurries his steps, but more troll guards are coming." I let the music swell and build into a glorious climax. "A legion of troll guards, led by the king himself, is chasing Peer Gynt as he runs desperately." I struck a chord and said, "He finds a door, but oh! it's locked. He turns and runs faster still." Another chord. "Again, he finds a locked door. He is desperate, for the troll king knows that Peer Gynt will not marry his daughter and is furious that he lied. Peer Gynt keeps running and running until at last, at last, he finds the right door and escapes by the skin of his teeth, running far away from the troll kingdom, never to be seen there again." I took a deep breath, feeling my heart pounding. This song always did that to me, especially when I heard it with the full orchestra. It was quite a masterpiece, and had taken me a while to learn. I turned to Jonathan, who was watching me with great interest.

"I've heard that song before," he said, "but I never knew the story that went with it. That was wonderful, Sirena. You play beautifully, and you have a gift for storytelling." I smiled.

"Thank you." I raised a hand to stifle a yawn, stretching slowly.

"You're tired. You should go to bed. How long have you been in here, anyway?"

"A few hours. I lost track of time, I guess. Oh! I meant to tell you, Falcone's been arrested!"

"What? How?"

"Someone they call the Batman. He caught Falcone and his thugs down at the docks hustling illegal drugs hidden inside stuffed teddy bears and rabbits. God do I feel stupid; I was there that night three weeks ago and I found those toys but I never guessed that they had _drugs_ in them!"

"I'm sure that's why the drugs were hidden inside toys, so that no one would guess."

I looked at Jonathan with a slight frown. "Are you all right? You're acting a little tense, and speaking very tersely. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just a long night at the asylum. Not for the first time am I rethinking my line of work."

I nodded, but didn't say anything. I knew there was more to this than Johnny wanted to say, but I decided to drop it for the time being. Besides, I was too tired to care. I felt almost like I had when They had drugged me with Valium and Demerol to keep me quiet while They worked on me. I stretched again and rose from the piano stool.

"I think you're right about going to bed." Jonathan smiled as I walked over to him and rose, holding out his arms to me. I hugged him, then frowned as I smelled something strange clinging to his clothes. A chemical, almost floral scent that I couldn't identify, like a flower treated with chlorine or some kind of sulphide. I tried not to let on about this, though. I didn't want Jonathan thinking I suspected him of something, because I didn't. Did I? I was too tired to think about it at the moment. "Good night Johnny," I said, starting to leave. Then, as an afterthought, I turned back and quickly brushed a kiss against his cheek. I hurried to my room, but I could see Jonathan's surprised expression out of the corner of my eye as I left. I hadn't even realized I was going to do it until I had done it, and now I wondered why I had. I didn't _regret_ it or anything; I loved Jonathan and I knew he loved me. I guess it felt strange because we weren't actually related. Still, it was nice. At least, _I_ thought so.

My bed was soft and welcoming that night (though really it always was) as I sank into it. I was _tired._ I wasn't even sure why, but I was. Probably because of the long walk I had taken in the park that afternoon. Whatever the reason, I just wanted to sleep. And I did. And with the sleep came graphic dreams:

_I slipped in and out among the crates, wondering what these men were doing. Who _were_ they? Who were they working for? What was in all these crates and barrels, labeled 'HAZMAT'? I continued creeping along, hearing _In the Hall of the Mountain King_ playing in the background as I did. I saw pipelines broken open and barrels of drugs being poured into the water. I gasped as I realized what was going on. I knew I couldn't be found and tried to get away. However, some of the workers saw me and followed me, trying to catch me. Well, I would show them that catching me and holding me were two very different things, and neither was easy. I dodged and jumped and ran, trying to get away. The music kept playing, speeding up with me as I played out Peer Gynt's part in the story. I ran up onto the catwalks but I was blocked. I turned to run the other way, but I was blocked again. With no other option, I grabbed a rope and swung across to another catwalk and bolted down towards the elevator. It wouldn't move without a key, however, so I tried to climb out the emergency hatch above. On the final drumroll of the song, someone grabbed my ankle and pulled me down. On the last cymbal crash, that someone – a scarecrow-faced man in a pinstriped suit – seized my by the throat and everything went black._


	8. Chapter VIII

**A/N:** I usually like to go by the equation New Update + New Review New New Update, but no one seems to be reviewing so I'm just going to go ahead and update anyway. Sorry it's taken so long, but I've been getting sicker and sicker lately, which means I have make-up work and normal work coming out my ass.

**Chapter VIII**

I decided not to tell Johnny about my dream, even when it repeated for two more days. He had enough to worry about without me adding to that with a slight case of insomnia due to weird dreams. Besides, it was just a silly dream. I didn't seriously believe that there was some scarecrow-monster out there trying to get me; that was just ridiculous. A Batman was one thing, but a Scarecrow? That was just plain _weird._

I got up and took a long shower before getting dressed. And why not? It was Saturday, and I didn't even go to school anyway. I could have _taught_ high school juniors, and they'd probably learn more from me than the underpaid losers who couldn't get _real_ jobs who claimed to "teach" at the school (**A/N:** I'm not knocking teachers here, my dad's one, so no one take any offense please). Ah well, it didn't really matter anyway. I decided to wear a fitted panne velvet shirt with pointed black satin collar & cuffs and tiny braid fasteners to front and cuffs, silvery jeans, and low-heeled black boots. I almost always wore boots; I liked them. I found them comfortable and sturdy, and couldn't imagine why girls my age who wore open-toed shoes on wet, rainy days found that they had any right to bitch and whine about getting their feet wet in the puddles. No, boots all the way for me.

I hoped that that night Johnny would come home to me and we could spend time together, but I knew that wasn't likely. Maybe I would surprise him at his office. Yes, that was a nice idea. Why hadn't I thought of it before? I'd hop the monorail to Arkham Island and surprise him at the asylum. He'd like that, I was sure. It would be nice to have some time together. That trip to New York he mentioned was a very good idea, and not just because I loved "The Phantom of the Opera". I wanted Johnny to have more time for me. I wondered what he was even doing at the asylum, and if there was anything I could help him with so he'd be finished faster. Well, I'd find out that night.

I spent the day by myself in the library reading and writing stories on the computer there, occasionally taking a break to play _Sudoku_, an intensely difficult Japanese number puzzle. Once my stories had been a way of trying to tell the cyber-geeks out there that I was in serious trouble. I thought that, if I were lucky, some group of young anti-political extremists would try to break into the government's basement looking for Roswell survivors and find me. Now I just wrote for pleasure, mostly Gothic horror stories with plenty of blood and gore. I was particularly good at that, given my morbid imagination. Still, the genre appealed to a large amount of the patrons of my websites, so it wasn't like it was a waste of time. Time passed very quickly in this manner, and before I knew it it was dinnertime and Jonathan still wasn't home. I decided to have dinner alone and catch the next monorail out to Arkham Island to see him. As an afterthought, I brought some stew with me in a Tupperware bowl. I figured Johnny wouldn't have had time to eat during his busy day.

About half an hour later I was on the city's train headed for Arkham. I felt uncomfortable being alone on the train, but I had a taser in my pocket and I knew martial arts. I figured I'd be all right. Even so, I was very careful. I didn't want to end up getting raped or murdered. Or both. But I made it to the island without any problems, and I was the only one disembarking there. I made my way to the asylum quickly, not wanting to meet any of the lowlifes that lived on the island. I was afraid of being recognized if I went through the main doors, so I decided to go inside through the basement. I knew the way; I had escaped through there from the morgue. I figured I could just take the elevator up, and if it needed a key I'd use the stairs. A little exercise never hurt anyone.

The door down into the basement gave way easily enough. Probably it was seldom used. I went inside, trying to ignore the strong smell of chemicals. Then I stopped. I shouldn't _be_ smelling chemicals in an asylum basement…should I? I didn't think so; there was no reason for chemicals to be in the basement of an asylum. No _legal_ reason, at least. I continued on slowly, cautiously. There was something going on, and it wasn't good. I had heightened senses and sharper intuition than other people, and I knew something bad was happening here. My fear was the Johnny was in trouble…or in charge. The latter would have been worse to me. You can imagine, then, my reaction when I entered the main pipe room and saw my dear Johnny and his associates polluting the city's water supply with barrels of cloudy white chemicals. I could smell the same flowery-chlorine scent that had been clinging to Jonathan's clothes lately. Now I knew why. And so, I noticed, did one Rachel Dawes. She turned and ran, and Jonathan pursued her after a moment. A few minutes later some of his cronies went after him and came back carrying a slightly unconscious Rachel. Jonathan wore what appeared, at first, to be a burlap sack on his head. I realized after a moment that it was the scarecrow face that I had seen in my dreams. And I realized then that Jonathan, the one person I thought I could trust, was the Scarecrow! I stared at him, my face crumpled with hurt. How could he betray me like this? How could he lie to me? To _me!_ Everything he told me, everything he said…was it all a lie? Tears burned my eyes, but I blinked them away. I believed in a little thing called _karma._ And if it was working, he'd get his soon.

A moment later, a loud rattle sounded and startled everyone. Jonathan pulled off his mask and ran a hand through his tousled hair.

"He's here…" he said, looking all around.

"Who?" asked one of his men.

"The _Bat Man_," replied Jonathan. I had never seen him so downright _twitchy._ If I didn't know any better, I'd have said he was afraid…

"What do we do?" asked another man.

"What anyone does when a prowler comes around: _call the police,"_ said Jonathan, still looking around the ceiling.

"You want the cops in here?" asked a third man, incredulous.

"At this point they can't stop us," replied Jonathan. "But the Batman has a talent for disruption. Force him outside; the police will take him down. Go."

"What about her?" asked the first man.

"Oh she hasn't got long. I gave her a concentrated dose. The mind can only take so much. _Now go."_

The first man hurried off. The other two stood around looking nervous. "The things they say about him…" said the second. "Can he really fly?"

"I heard he can disappear," added the third. Jonathan gave them both a very patronizing look.

"Well, it looks like we'll find out," he answered. Then the sound of glass shattering resounded and all Hell broke loose. The Batman materialized out of the shadows and attacked the thugs. Jonathan had ducked underneath the stairs to the catwalks and pulled his mask back on, waiting for an opportunity. I moved carefully through the darkness so I could see better. I was watched, fascinated, as Batman took out the two thugs seemingly without even breaking a sweat. Jonathan lunged at him, arm outstretched to hit him with the white gas I now knew was hidden in a canister up his sleeve. Batman seized his arm, punched him in the stomach, yanked off his mask, and pulled him up by his hair. I frowned slightly, but didn't move. The last thing I needed was for Batman to think I was mixed up in all this.

Batman twisted Jonathan's arm around to point at his own face. "Taste of your own medicine, doctor?" he growled. He sprayed Jonathan in the face with his own chemical, leaving Jonathan coughing and struggling. Batman pulled him up and pushed him against the stairs, holding his face roughly. "What have you been doing here?" he demanded. "Who are you working for?"

Never had I seen such an expression on Jonathan's face. He was terrified. Whatever drug he had created, it apparently incited panic in whoever was exposed to it. Jonathan, whom I had believed devoid of all fear, was actually panicking. Cruel irony. How I love it.

Jonathan's wide eyes darted around, looking for a way to escape this waking nightmare – for who knows what the Batman appeared as to his fevered sights? – before shakily answering, "Ra's. Ra's al Ghul."

"Ra's al Ghul is dead; _who are you working for?"_ snarled Batman. Jonathan didn't, couldn't, answer. He just stared in open-mouthed horror at the masked man before him. _"Crane!"_

"…Dr. Crane isn't here right now," whispered Jonathan. "But if you would like to make an appointment-"

He was cut off by the wail of police sirens. Batman looked around and then back at Jonathan before literally throwing him aside. I watched Jonathan hit the wall and slide to the floor, a broken, shaken man. Batman took Rachel and left. I came out of the shadows and approached Jonathan slowly. He stared up at me in terror as I glared down at him in fury. Before I realized what I was doing, I had slapped him hard across the face. Jonathan crumpled to the ground, whimpering, and I was immediately ashamed. Still, I was livid.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he kept babbling over and over.

"You _should_ be sorry, you putz," I muttered. Still, I didn't leave him. I couldn't. I thought I was going to, but I couldn't. I waited with him until Sergeant Gordon arrived, whereupon I put on my innocent act, pretending I had no idea what was going on, that I had just come to see Jonathan because he hadn't come home and I had found _this,_ and so on. I was treated kindly, wrapped in a blanket, and taken outside. As I was led away, I looked over my shoulder to see Jonathan – the one person I thought really loved me – taken away to a cell in his own asylum.

_'How the mighty have fallen!'_ I thought derisively. I was being cynical again, but I couldn't help it. I had just lost everything _again._ I should have just left Gotham when I had the chance! Tears stung my eyes again, and this time I let them flow. The police, misunderstanding, assured me that Jonathan was going to be all right and that the best place for him was the asylum where he couldn't hurt anyone, including himself. I didn't even hear them. Without realizing, I pulled away from the man holding me and started walking slowly towards the bridge. I let the blanket fall from around me. I didn't really need it anyway. I didn't need anything. I had had enough. After I went back to the house and got some money, I was leaving Gotham for good. And there was _nothing_ that could make me stay.


	9. Chapter IX

**A/N:** Viin – I know the idea of Crane being a good guy might seem a little strange, but I have an explanation if you'll stick around for it.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the line from "The Moonshiner".

**Chapter IX**

Hot tears burned my eyes as I threw some clothes into a duffel bag. I couldn't stay here anymore; I just couldn't, not after Jonathan had betrayed me. I wouldn't even go to Arkham to say good-bye. I never wanted to see or hear of him again, ever. He was just like all the others. All people were the same! I'd never trust any of them again. I'd trust no one but myself. I was the only person I could trust.

I raided Jonathan's room and found some cash; enough for a train ticket. I guessed I'd go somewhere out in the country where there was less chance of my being found. New Jersey, maybe. Or one of the Carolinas. Somewhere away from people, out in the country. Somewhere I'd be safe. I didn't really think about it much. I just wanted to get far away from Gotham fast. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was horribly wrong.

Well, that wasn't _my_ problem.

"Going somewhere tonight, dear?" came a voice from the doorway. I looked and saw the housekeeper, Mrs. Dunberry, standing there. I looked away.

"Yeah," I said absently. "Sleepover. I'll be gone all night."

"You don't have to lie to me, dear," said Mrs. Dunberry gently. I looked up in surprise. She smiled warmly. "I know what's happened. You think I'd work for Dr. Crane all these years and I wouldn't know when he's put his foot in it? I knew he was getting into something over his head, but it wasn't my place to say and I make a nice income here. But I knew." The tears came again, and this time it was either let them flow or suffocate. I bit my lip, my face tight.

"How…could he do this?" I whispered. "He lied to me. He lied! And I believed him! How could he? How _could_ he? I thought…I thought…"

"You thought what, dear?" asked Mrs. Dunberry, taking me into her arms lovingly.

"I thought he loved me," I croaked. Then I buried my face in her bosom and sobbed. Mrs. Dunberry had a nice, grandmotherly smell, like cinnamon and peppermint. She was soft and comforting, and for a moment I imagined that she was my grandmother and she loved me too. But no one loved me. No one.

"He _does_ love you," said Mrs. Dunberry, stroking my hair. "He's loved you since you first came to Arkham." I looked up at her in surprise. "Oh yes, dear, I knew about that. You can't fool an old woman. I knew you were his Renfield patient. He talked about you often. And when he'd come home from that ghastly asylum of his, he always go straight up to your bedroom and look in on you sleeping, just like a father would. Only after he knew you were peacefully asleep would he put away his briefcase, change into his comfortable clothes, and come down and have his dinner. Only after he knew you were all right. He'd talk about you as he ate, telling me how much he wished he could finish up with 'this sordid business' as he said so he could spend more time with you. I knew he was working on something rather outside the law, but still he always thought of you. He loves you, dear. He truly does." She squeezed me a little tighter and added, "And so do I." I looked up at her, unable to respond. What could I possibly say? I sighed and lowered my head again.

"And what good is that to me now?" I asked softly. "Jonathan's lost his mind. I've lost everything again."

"You are still his daughter by law," answered Mrs. Dunberry. "You have the right to this house now. It's yours. And I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. Besides, there might be something you can do for him."

I thought about that. I wasn't sure exactly what Mrs. Dunberry knew about Jonathan's "sordid business", but she had given me an excellent idea. I might be able to make a cure for his strange vapor. If only I knew what it was made from…

"Land sakes, what is that!" cried Mrs. Dunberry suddenly. I followed her gaze out the window and saw that the water mains throughout the city were bursting! Suddenly everything made sense: the chemicals being poured into the water mains, the white gas that caused panic in whoever was exposed to it, the rumor that Wayne Enterprises had just had some sort of microwave-emitter stolen…whoever this "Ra's al Ghul" that Jonathan said he was working for was, he was infecting the city with this poison!

"Oh god," I whispered. "I have to go back! I have to find him!" Before Mrs. Dunberry could ask what I meant, I had bolted out the door and was running as fast as I could back to Arkham. It was a long run, but I was faster and had better endurance than other people. When I reached the bridge it had been raised already, but I just dove into the water and swam across. I had to find Jonathan before something happened to him. Then I realized that my fears were unnecessary: Jonathan had been freed from the asylum. And he no longer recognized me. I watched him chase down Rachel Dawes and a little boy she was trying to protect, riding a police horse and wearing his Scarecrow mask. I felt sorry for the poor horse, for who knew what sort of effect this drug would have on the animal? I followed them quickly, watching as Jonathan closed in on Rachel and the boy.

"_There is nothing to fear,"_ he raved, _"but Fear itself!"_

Rachel suddenly pulled a taser gun out of her pocket and fired it at Jonathan. It hit him squarely between the eyes, and he fell back screaming. The horse ran off with him, he having lost control. There was no way I could follow them. The island was crawling with murderers, rapists, and all the other crazies of Arkham Asylum. I was in as much danger now as everyone else. Then I realized just how foolish I had been to come back. There was nothing I could do. There was nothing anyone could do.

Rachel suddenly noticed me. "You!" she called. I spun around in surprise. "Are you all right? Where are you parents?" she asked.

"Six feet under," I replied heavily. "And I'm fine. But something has to be done about this gas, before it covers the whole city."

"Why isn't it affecting you?" asked Rachel. "Have you been inoculated?"

"No," I said, surprised. "I didn't know there was an inoculation. This stuff doesn't affect me because I'm not…afraid of anything." I had been about to tell her that I wasn't human! How stupid can I get? I shook my head briefly to clear it. "We have to get off this island. There isn't much time before the crazies from the asylum catch up with us."

"I'm not leaving yet," said Rachel. "Besides, the bridges have been raised. There's no way back across."

"You don't swim?" I replied, a little sadly. I gazed gently at the little boy. "You stay with Miss Dawes, big guy. She'll watch out for you." The boy nodded shakily. I smiled at him and left before Rachel could ask any more awkward questions. There was nothing I could do. All I could do was go back to Mrs. Dunberry and warn her about the gas. Maybe if she wet some towels and placed them over her mouth and nose, like you're supposed to when there's a fire, that would filter out the poison in the air. As I walked away, I found myself singing:

"_I'm a rambler, I'm a gambler, I'm a long way from home  
And if you don't like me, well, leave me alone!__  
I'll eat when I'm hungry, I'll drink when I'm dry__  
And if moonshine don't kill me I'll live 'til I die!"_

Hmph. Small wonder that phrase was on my mind. I certainly had a tendency to ramble on at times, I gambled my life any time I came out in public, and, having never really had a home until now, I couldn't be farther from it. Well, it didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was getting off the island and getting back to Mrs. Dunberry. She was a sweet old woman, and I wanted to help her if I could. As for this inoculation, I'd have to see about getting some for myself to use on Jonathan if I ever found him again.

I wandered around despondently for a while, having forgotten my purpose, until suddenly the monorail roared overhead. My head snapped up at the sound. Who could be running the train now? And what on Earth was that thing hanging from underneath it? Wait, that wasn't a _thing_, it was a _person!_ Batman! He was trying to stop the train! But why? Then I realized that the microwave-emitter that was blowing the pipes and releasing the gas must be on the train. The monorail followed the main pipes to the central hub right underneath Wayne Tower. If that hub were to blow, the pipes all over the city would follow in a chain reaction. I just stared after the train for a while, not knowing what to do. A grunting sound caught my attention. I looked around and saw several of the inmates of Arkham duking it out nearby. And right against my foot was a medical kit. I opened it quickly, hoping to find…yes, there was a syringe! Excellent! I snuck up on the men carefully, waiting for my moment to strike. When it came, I clapped one man on both temples with the palms of my hands. Unconsciousness was immediate. While he was down for the count, I jabbed the syringe into the artery that was pulsing out of his neck and filled it with blood. I may not have had an inoculant against this drug, but I'd be damned if I couldn't make my own!


	10. Chapter X

**A/N:** I'm sorry for the delay, but I haven't had a lot of time to write lately because of the play I'm in and the homework I have to do in between rehearsals. I'll try and keep it up.

**Chapter X**

"I understand that Joey, but…you're not listening to me…look, do you want the money or not?..._Yes_, Joey…_yes,_ Joey…drop _dead,_ Joey…_yes,_ Joey." I hung up the phone, disgusted. It had taken me hours of finagling to finally track Joey down and then he started giving me a hard time because I "sounded too young". The guy acted like he was the don of the Soprano family. Well, I didn't care if he was Prime Minister to the Grand Pooh-Bah of the Great Cathayian Empire! I was paying him enough; I wanted him to do as I said! And what I said was that he was to have his monkeys track down Jonathan and hold him for me. I was still furious with Jonathan for what he had done, but I was going to give him another chance. I wouldn't have bothered if Mrs. Dunberry hadn't talked to me about him. Besides, I wanted to test my inoculant to see if it would work. And I needed a test subject.

It was two days after the "Panic Attack" as the presses were calling it. Batman had stopped the train from reaching the tower, and Lieutenant Gordon was having the antidote mass-produced. It would take a while, but it was happening at least. I, meanwhile, had been running tests on the blood sample I managed to procure, and had managed to isolate the protein-based receptor compounds and create an antidote of my own. I had no idea of knowing for sure if it would work. _That_ would require a test. And I was unaffected by the gas, not being human. For the first time, I was glad that I wasn't. Still, it's a lonely world when you're the only one living in it.

I dressed all in black – black pants, heavy black boots with steel toe caps, black sweater, black leather jacket with zippers and chains on the front – and I had tied my hair back in a tight braid and outlined my eyes with black eyeliner and mascara. I did _not_ look like someone to be taken lightly, young or not. I also had a gun in my pocket. Now all I needed was a location. The goons who had been sent to find Jonathan were supposed to hold him somewhere discreet and call me with their location so I could pick him up. I didn't have a legal driver's license, but I knew how to drive a car. I'd take Jonathan's and pick him up. That is, when I received the call.

The call finally came late in the evening. I had been hovering around the phone waiting for it, but I still jumped in surprise when it rang. Immediately I seized the phone and brought it to my ear so quickly I smacked myself in the head by accident. But that didn't matter. "Talk to me."

"We have your 'package', Miss," said a voice.

"Good. I trust it's still _completely undamaged?"_ I asked in a warning tone.

"Nothing that we did."

"Fine. Where?"

"At the docks, in the crate storage."

"Stay there. I'll meet you in ten minutes. And if my 'package' isn't in prime condition when I get there, _there will be Hell to pay._ Am I clear?"

"Crystal, Miss."

_"Good."_

I hung up the phone, grabbed a pair of wraparound shades and black leather gloves and hurried to the garage. Jonathan's innocuous little Volvo was waiting for me. I had fond the keys in a kitchen drawer and was set. Two minutes later I was rolling down the highway with 101.5 _The Hawk_ blasting in my face. I hated the music, but it made me seem more like a normal kid going for a joyride late at night rather than an I-don't-know-what hooking up with mobsters. I checked my hair in the mirror to make sure I had covered all the whiteness – I had gotten a can of cheap black hairspray, feeling that my lunar locks would make me a little too recognizable if things went sour. I came up on the docks pretty quickly and hurried into the storage area to finish the transaction. The muscle I had hired were standing on either side of a much-shaken Jonathan, still wearing his untied straightjacket. He had lost his mask somewhere, though, and I could see that the skin around his eyes was an angry red, burned and twisted from the taser gun. Well, that should be fixable. He was muttering incoherently to himself, apparently not aware of anything around him. I sighed, but didn't remark on it.

"Help me get him to the car," I said, deepening my voice, making it sound husky and low. One of the men picked up Jonathan, who gave a cry of fright, and followed me with him. At my curt gesture, he laid Jonathan in the backseat of the little Volvo and back away. When he was done, I handed both men their money, which they accepted greedily. "I was never here," I warned them.

"Neither were we," one man replied. I nodded silently, got into the car, and drove off. By the time those goons found out that their cash was counterfeit it would probably be too late. Even so, they'd never be able to tie it to me; I had neither fingerprints nor birth records, so I didn't legally exist. They'd never be able to find me, and with no evidence there was no way to prove that I had counterfeited the money.

I drove in silence, switching off the radio. Jonathan moaned in the back, but I didn't say anything to him. I didn't know whether to be angry with him still or feel sorry for him. He had certainly put his foot in it this time, there was no question of that, but what I didn't know was _why._ But I intended to find out as soon as possible.

I parked the car in the garage and had to half-drag Jonathan inside the house. I managed to get him up to his room, and he went quietly enough, but I was worried that he was going to have some kind of homicidal outburst at any given moment. So I was exceedingly careful. I laid him down on his bed and got my antidote from the nightstand where I had left it.

"Can you hear me, Jonathan?" I asked him. He just looked at me. "You're sick, Jonathan. Very sick. But I have the medicine you need right here. Do you understand?" Jonathan mumbled something that sounded like "frazelspitz". I looked him right in the eyes and asked softly, "Do you know me?"

Jonathan looked back at me silently for a moment. "Sirena," he finally said.

I smiled. "Yes, I'm Sirena. I'm here, Jonathan."

"Fear gas," he said.

"I know," I said. "I'm still angry with you for that."

"I'm sorry," he said, sounding very like a little boy who had taken a cooky before dinner when his mother said he couldn't.

"I know you are," I sighed. I reached over and pulled off his straightjacket. He just lay there like a doll, watching me but offering no resistance. I swabbed his arm with an alcohol pad and readied my syringe. "I have to give you your medicine, Jonathan. You can't get better without it. Don't be afraid. I'm not going to leave you." I reached for his arm and he tensed, clearly nervous. I kept making soothing little sounds while I took his arm and held it firmly.

"Sirena," he whispered. "Sirena, wait, what is it? Ow, ow, Sirena, hurt."

"I know, I know," I said softly. I had just inserted the needle and he was trying to twist away from me. I pulled it out slowly and taped a piece of gauze over the tiny pinprick. "There, it's over now. You'll feel better soon. Just go to sleep. Sleep will help you get better." I gently laid a cool damp cloth over his eyes. I didn't like the look of those taser burns, but there was nothing I could do about it at the time except keep putting cool cloths on. I stayed by his side all night, singing softly to make him sleep. There was nothing more that I could do but…hope.

* * *

I woke with a very stiff neck the next morning in an armchair in Jonathan's room. He was still sleeping peacefully. The swelling and redness around his eyes seemed to have gone down a little, but not much. I'd have to look up how to treat the burns soon. I had an aloe vera plant in my room on my windowsill that I could use the gel from, as well as several other plants and herbs with curative properties. Some 'a'ali'i, a Hawaiian plant, could help soothe the angry flesh, and maybe some juice from the shoot of a ko plant (which was actually normal sugarcane) would help too. Ko, I knew, was used to treat lacerations, so it might have a curative effect on the burns. Noni leaves were made into a poultice for boils, wounds, and fractures, but my noni plant wasn't blooming yet. The 'a'ali'i and ko juice should be enough. But I wanted to wait for Jonathan to wake first and see how he was reacting to the medicine I had made.

Jonathan woke soon enough and seemed confused. I was worried. Had the serum been useless after all? Had I made his condition worse? Slowly Jonathan sat up, taking the cloth off his eyes, and looked around. His gaze fell on me shortly.

"Sirena?" he asked. "What…what have I been doing?"

"You've been making a real mess of things," I replied, but there was no chastisement in my voice. The antidote had worked. Jonathan was back. "You created a gas that infected anyone who inhaled it, besides myself, with a panic strong enough to drive them to insanity. You fell victim to your own drug, though, before a man named Ra's al Ghul released it on the city. That was three days ago. I just managed to find you last night, with the help of some hired muscle. I managed to counteract the toxin with a serum of my own. And I certainly hope you're proud of yourself."

"Ghul released the toxin?" repeated Jonathan incredulously. "He said he wouldn't! He – oh god, my eyes," he moaned.

"Don't rub," I instructed him, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. I had kept the lights dim and shut the curtains just in case this happened. "I have some herbs that should help. Stay in bed, and I'll get them." I squeezed his hand and went to my room. I cut off some of the ko shoots and pressed their juice out into a cup, plucked some of the 'a'ali'i leaves and ground them into a powder, and mixed them with the juice to make a paste. That done, I broke off an aloe vera leaf and took everything back to Jonathan, who, by some miracle, had heeded me and stayed in bed. I set the cup down on the nightstand and sat on the bed. "Close your eyes," I said gently. I took his chin in my hand and carefully applied the paste I had made to the burned skin, including his eyelids. That done, I took the aloe vera leaf and spread its soothing gel over the skin. "There. That ought to feel better."

"It does." Jonathan sighed, not looking at me. "I suppose you want an explanation."

"How could you tell?" I replied, a little scathingly. Jonathan just nodded resignedly.

"I'm not a bad person, Sirena," he said. "I never would have agreed to Ghul's plan if I knew he was actually going to release the toxin on the populace. He told me the plan was just to hold the city to ransom."

"Yes, because that's _so_ much better," I said coldly.

"Please, just listen," said Jonathan. "I agreed because I felt it was time that the city paid for its crimes. Crimes like allowing thugs like Falcone and his muscle men to run free on the streets and flood them with crime, drugs, and dead bodies. That's why I used the gas on the inmates of my asylum: because they deserved it for what they had done. They had all tried to get out of jail with an insanity plea, thinking that the asylum was better than prison. I wanted them to pay still. In addition, I was conducting an experiment of my own. I always wondered why crime held such a high interest in those who committed it. I wanted to try it for myself and see if I could come to anything conclusive. I never expected things to go the way that they did. I didn't want you to know because I didn't know what you would think."

I was silent. Was I supposed to tell him "Oh that's all right Johnny, I forgive you" now? It wasn't that simple. His explanation made sense, but he should have told me anyway. And it was a pretty stupid thing to do in any case. Still, he did seem honestly remorseful and he had told me the truth in the end – I could always tell when someone was lying to me. He had never lied to me before, when I thought about it, he just hadn't told the whole truth. What was I supposed to do?

I sighed. "You should have just _told_ me."

"I know. And I'm truly sorry. I never counted on finding you that night. I never counted on caring for you. You changed everything when I brought you into my life. Until then, I had never had to answer to anyone, never had to explain myself to anyone. But suddenly I have a daughter and she wants to know what I do late at night that's so important I can't have dinner with her. And stranger still, it mattered to me."

I was touched by Jonathan's words. I hadn't realized that he cared so much about me. In the end, was it I who had hurt him? "I wish this could have been different. This could have been so much easier for both of us." I sighed. "Well, we can't change the past and we can't dwell on it either. But this is still going to take a while to clear up. The police are still looking for you."

"I know, but I doubt they'd look for me in my own home. They probably think this is the last place I'd run to."

"Still, we should go away for a while I think. I feel like I've stayed in this city for too long, and They might be on my trail." Actually, I hadn't thought about Them in a long while. A foolish thing to do, since They had almost caught me once because of that. "Maybe we could go out to the countryside for a few weeks until all this clears up. In that time, I'll try to figure out an alibi for you. There are diseases that can cause temporary insanity. We can just tell the police that's what happened."

"I despise the idea of anyone believing me insane," replied Jonathan darkly.

"Oh don't be such a maniaphobe. You know it's not true and I know it's not true, so what do you care what _they_ think? Would you rather tell them the truth?"

"No, of course not." Jonathan sighed. "All right. You're right. We should leave the city for a while."

"Good, but I want you to stay in bed for a few days first. We'll be all right here, I think." I smiled at him. "Now, how about breakfast?"

Jonathan smiled. "Breakfast sounds wonderful." I rose off the bed and left to get some breakfast for the both of us. If only we had left that day, things might have been different…


	11. Chapter XI

**Chapter XI**

That day I started making plans to go out to the Outer Banks in North Carolina for a week or so while Johnny – I had started calling him by that affectation after my anger had cooled – rested in bed. I popped in and out all day, reapplying the aloe gel and 'a'ali'i and ko paste to his eyes and insisting he keep a cool cloth over them. I offered him a gel-filled sleeping mask that I had put in the refrigerator so that he could read or watch TV, but he politely declined. He was still trying to figure out "where it all went wrong", so I just left him to it.

By midafternoon I had gotten us a cozy little condo on the beach for two weeks (for a pretty penny, I might add) and two train tickets to North Carolina, so I started packing clothes and toiletries for the two of us. I didn't take as much as a normal teenage girl would (once again drawing attention to the fact that I was not human), since I didn't need a razor or shaving gel because the only hair that grew on my body came out of my head. I didn't need to be jumping on it that quickly, since the first train out that way left two days hence, but I just wanted to get out of the city as quickly as possible. I had a bad feeling that something was going to happen, and my bad feelings had yet to be wrong. I tried to ignore it, but it was growing stronger and stronger. I had just reconciled with Johnny; I didn't want to lose him now.

I took my mind off things by playing the nurse to Johnny, treating his burns constantly and bringing him anything he needed. Mrs. Dunberry had the day off, but I would have given it to her anyway. If They did come for me, I didn't want that sweet old lady getting hurt. She was like a grandmother to me, and I couldn't let anything happen to her if I could avoid it. The same went for Johnny (except for the grandmother part). I had to protect them both, even if Johnny thought he was protecting me. It was a façade I had to allow, for all our sakes. Still, it was saddening.

I soon had everything we needed packed, though we wouldn't be leaving for a two days. That left me time to treat Johnny's burns and make sure the serum I had given him wasn't going to pop up any nasty little side effects. There didn't seem much chance of that, but I wanted to be careful. But Johnny was doing just fine, and the burns, he said, were hurting much less with repeated applications of soothing aloe and the salve I made.

"You'd make a good doctor, or a chemist," he commented as I gently spread my special salve over the much-reduced burns. I just smiled.

"Any change?" I asked later when I brought lunch in for Johnny.

"My eyes hurt much less, thanks to your plants," he replied with a smile. I smiled back and sat on the edge of the bed.

"You're sure you don't want that eye mask?" I asked. "I won't tell anyone about it."

Johnny chuckled. "It's not that, sweetheart. I just want to think for a while."

"You've been thinking all day. You think too much; such men are dangerous."

Johnny laughed outright this time. "Well, maybe you're right." He shifted, sitting up against his pillows. "Tell me one of your stories. You know so many that I've never heard."

I smiled. "I'll be right back." I went to my room and returned with a Spanish guitar. After a quick tune, I began to strum, checking the strings, until my thrumming turned into a song. I sat cross-legged on the foot of the bed, my eyes closed, rocking to the haunting melody that followed my dancing fingers. My voice joined in harmony singing:

"_A fierce one-eyed man, name of Baron LaBonne__  
A meaner Pirate had never been known_  
_And he sailed on the _Dark Lady  
A ship strong and sound with a perilous crew  
_And high on the mast the skull and bones flew__  
Fleet and swift was the _Dark Lady

_And every night the Baron would drink a toast__  
He'd say, 'Here's to our lovely lady host!  
My one true love...'  
'Hear, hear!' the crew replied  
And the _Dark Lady_ sighed._

_A rich Spanish galleon was spotted one night__  
The _Dark Lady'_s crew prepared for the fight  
Clash of sword... No Spaniard survived it  
Except for the maiden with dark eyes so bold  
Found in the hull with the jewels and the gold  
LaBonne laughed and he took her for ransom _

_And every night the Baron would drink a toast  
He'd say, 'Here's to my lovely lady host!  
My one true love...'  
'Hear, hear!' the crew replied.  
And the _Dark Lady _sighed_

_Now the girl Carlotta was a beauty quite rare__  
With each passing night LaBonne couldn't bear  
his empty bed. He brought her to it  
The Baron soon found he felt more than desire  
His love for her grew and his soul was on fire __  
He proclaimed that they would marry._

_That night the Baron drank with jubilee__  
He said, 'Here's to my lovely bride to be!  
My one true love...'  
'Hear, hear!' the crew replied  
And the _Dark Lady_ cried _

_The following night a storm brewed at sea__  
The _Dark Lady_ saw her chance to be free  
of her rival: the beauty Carlotta __  
The ship steered herself to the heart of the gale  
Where a wave swept the maiden out over the rail  
Sweet revenge on an unfaithful lover!  
__That night the _Lady_ drank a toast__  
She said, 'Here's to your lovely lady host!  
Your one true love...'  
No voices replied __  
__And the _Dark Lady_ smiled._

_And now any night when a storm fills the sky__  
They say that a ghost ship sails in its eye  
__Fleet and swift is the _Dark Lady  
_A ship strong and sound with a perilous crew_  
_And high on the mast the skull and bones flew  
While the captain gazes out to sea.  
_  
_And every night the Baron _must_ drink a toast__  
and say, 'Here's to our lovely lady host!_  
_My one _true_ love…'_  
'_Hear, hear!' the ghost crew replies_  
_And the _DarkLady_ smiles._  
_And the _Dark Lady smiles.  
_And the _Dark Lady_ smiles."_ I ended the song with a dark, chilling laugh as the last chords of the guitar faded away.

Johnny was silent for a time. "The ship herself was alive?"

"It seems that way," I replied. "I heard the song a long time ago. It just stuck with me, I guess." I spent the rest of the day telling and/or singing stories for Johnny. After a few hours I went to make dinner.

When I came back, Johnny had gotten up, showered, and dressed. I tried not to let him, but he insisted that he needed to get something from the now-abandoned asylum. I said I'd get it for him, but he firmly said that only he could retrieve it. Shaking my head, I watched him go. I spent my time in the library reading and researching ancient Romania. I had always been fascinated with Vlad Tepes – Vlad the Impaler – and since I had some free time I decided to learn what I could from Johnny's books. I was a little uncomfortable being alone in the house, since I had gotten used to being with people, but I tried to ignore it. My fears that I was being watched were confirmed when I heard the bookshelves creak on the other side of the library. I pretended not to hear them and picked up a graphing calculator near my hand. I started punching in numbers while mumbling to myself about the price of the condo in North Carolina (though not saying where it was), as though I were calculating the price of our trip. I set down the calculator just before more hands than I could count seized me from behind. I went down soon, drugged with chloroform, but by God I went down fighting!

**(from Jonathan Crane's P.O.V.)**

I could just feel that something was wrong when I got home. I should not have left Sirena alone, I realized, but I couldn't bring her with me to the asylum. Still, how could anyone get to her in my house? No one knew she was there. And certainly her pursuers couldn't have found her. Then again, their resources were governmental and much more sophisticated than those I used. I hurried inside.

"Sirena?" I called. "Sirena, where are you?" There was no answer. I became anxious and searched the house for her, calling her name. Then it hit me: the library! Where else did Sirena spend her time when I wasn't around? Smiling, shaking my head for not having thought of it before, I went to the library. But she was not there. I went to her favourite chair by the fireplace, but there was no sign of her. Nor had she apparently been near the piano. Finally I went up to the desk where she liked to sit and write at times. There were open books and loose sheets of paper all over the desk. The papers were all covered with notes on Vlad de Dracul, but no note as to where she was. Then I noticed a graphing calculator lying askew on one of the books. Why would she have needed a graphing calculator if she was taking notes on Vlad the Impaler? Curious, I picked up the calculator and switched it on. My eyes met with a meaningless string of gibberish:

'4sin(10cos(75log(-10/sin(0BAln(sin(0A40log9log9)0sin()80/sin(0,7log(log(1'

"What in the world?" I murmured. It made no sense at all. Was this supposed to be a message? I was confused, confounded. This wasn't like Sirena at all. Which meant…They had found her while I was gone. I groaned, thinking of how I had promised to protect her. I had failed, and now They had her again. I shuddered to think of what was going to happen to her. Against my better judgment, I had grown attached to her. I loved Sirena. I had to help her if I could. If only I could decipher her strange message. I looked it over again carefully, searching for hidden letters among the symbols. There were only two – a BA and an A – but it still made no sense. Then I looked at the buttons themselves. Above each symbol in green was a letter! I quickly switched the calculator to ALPHA mode and retyped the message. Now it spelled:

'THEY FOUND ME BASE AT NNL HELP ME JONNY'

"Oh sweet mother of God," I whispered, lapsing into the use of colloquialisms in my fear. "She's _gone!"_ For the first time in my life, I felt fear. Not fear for myself, but fear for another. I was afraid for Sirena's sake. I knew what was going to happen to her, wherever she was being taken. I had no idea what she meant by NNL, but I knew I had to find out and fast!


End file.
